Three's a Spell

A Familiar Resonance

[Sylas]

As Elora giggled while looking at Vernon, I could not help but see the vein dancing on her neck. Throughout dinner, I couldn’t help that my gaze would often seek Elora. Her "average features," as she herself might perceive them, held a captivating earthiness to me.

The way her wavy brown hair, now in a messy updo, framed a face that was expressive and genuine; more than I can say about most people. It isn’t even about her appearance but the sheer authenticity of her being that made her so captivating.

The dance that her forest-green eyes performed, when she laughed or narrowed them in playful teasing, sparkled with an inner light that was entirely her own.

I glanced down to note the soft fabric of her clothes, the practical comfort that she exuded, which spoke to her grounded nature. There was a simple, unadorned charm to her that I found utterly refreshing! A stark contrast to the often elaborate and calculated facades common in their supernatural world.

When Elora spoke, her voice wasn't just a sound. Her voice was like soil warmed by the sun and rain, a rich, resonant tone imbued with the subtle rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of growing vines. It carried the comforting weight of ancient earth, yet shimmered with the unadorned clarity of a mountain spring, each word a soft, natural melody.

It was so easy to discern the melodic chime when she expressed delight over the mead, the slight tremor of vulnerability when she admitted her guilt, and the spark of wit when she bantered with Vernon. It was a voice that anchored her firmly to the living world: a fresh, vibrant tone amidst the ancient, often hushed cadences of my long existence. I want to catch every inflection, every breath, and find the quiet comfort in its warmth and genuineness.

Watching her with Vernon was mesmerizing. Her quick retorts brought out Vernon's most playful, mischievous side.

He may not notice it, but I see Vernon's slight lean towards her, the way his eyes soften, and the unconscious desire to prolong her presence. I can already see a delicate balance forming, a new, delightful tension.

It really is a testament to Elora's unique spirit that she could so effortlessly, albeit unknowingly, draw Vernon into a dance of pure, unadulterated charm. For me, I see this as a beautiful confirmation of the fate he had already sensed.

“I read about magical resonance bonding,” I said between bites. “You know, when three magical beings form a triangle of complementary magic?”

I had been looking for a way to sneak this into our conversation. “It is rare to find, even these days. It is thought that Lilith, the Moon Goddess, and a few other deities created it as a way to guide together fated mates across the species barrier.”

I continued on, already feeling that I wasn’t going to scare away this adorably shy little witch. Vernon, on the other hand, may have benefited from a heads-up. “Usually it is only confirmed during joint spellcasting or... intimacy.”

Elora choked slightly on her mead. “Are you trying to say that this—us—could be some kind of magical convergence?”

“Could be,” Vernon said coolly. “Or all these sparks and tingles could just be coincidence.”

“Or fate,” Sylas added, grinning.

“Or bad luck,” Elora muttered, attempting to hide her smile.

“Just promise me you will take some time when you get home tonight to meditate on all of our interactions together.” I need to know if this woman can feel it the same way I do.

The pull I now feel towards Elora wasn’t just that first sudden jolt. Since that moment, it has become a deeper, more profound hum that seems to resonate within my very core. It is undeniable; it was the same irresistible, almost-fated drag I had once felt towards Vernon centuries ago—a quiet, inexorable force that seemed to defy logic and gravity.

This is more than just physical attraction. As I deemed with Vernon, it was a sympathetic vibration of our innermost beings, a recognition on a soul-deep level. With him, it started with this sudden, unexpected warmth in the cold expanse of his immortal existence, a calm certainty amidst the chaotic world. Now with Elora, it is an echo of that same deep-seated inevitability, with a new warmth blooming alongside the familiar, ancient comfort of my Vernon.

______________

[Elora]

The rest of dinner passed in a comfortable haze of soft candlelight and even softer conversation. After dessert (which was incredible—spiced pear tart with vanilla cream), we all moved to the sitting room, where a new deep-orange fire flickered lazily and Vernon insisted on playing the piano.

Sylas sat back on a velvet chaise, swirling the last of his blackberry mead. I wondered when my life had stopped being normal and started being... this. Whatever 'this' was. And, more importantly, why it feels so natural.

“You’re quiet,” I said to Sylas, sitting beside him.

“Just thinking,” he said.

“Dangerous hobby,” I smirked.

He looked up at me, eyes suddenly bright. “Don’t you ever ‘think’ with that little brain of yours?”

“You and Vernon have been together a long time, right?” What? That’s what you've been thinking. I scolded myself for prying.

“Over two hundred years,” he said. “Give or take a few lifetimes.”

“Doesn’t it ever... get old?”

Sylas looked at the fire for a moment, then stared longingly at Vernon as his fingers flitted across the keys like startled fireflies. “Not with a love this deep.”

He looked back at me, “and not when there are still surprises left.”

Vernon stopped playing and rejoined them, dropping dramatically into the seat on Elora’s other side. “Are you two getting deep without me?”

I smiled at them both. “Only a little.”

In the flickering firelight, as our laughter echoed off the stone walls, I could feel it: the shift. The start of something. Not just attraction, or curiosity—but a tether. A thread pulling taut between three very different hearts.